


A Piece of Me is a Piece of you

by DropofWater



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Organ Transplantation, Sappy, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:26:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropofWater/pseuds/DropofWater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Derek, I’m going to be completely honest with you.”  Melissa squeezes his arm gently. “My stepson-he’s an amazing kid. I love him as much as I would if he was my own son-he’s smart, and sarcastic, and witty, and just plain <i>good</i>.  But he’s sick-and he needs a kidney transplant, badly.  Like as soon as possible.  And you-Derek-you’re a match.”</p><p>Derek gives Stiles a kidney and sappiness ensues</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that everything I know about failing kidneys, dialysis, and the transplant process I learned from about 20 minutes of googling. So take it with a grain of salt, please :)

Derek had forgotten all about it, honestly.  He’d done it a few months after he and his sister Laura had moved to New York, soon after the freak electrical fire that burned his house down along with the rest of his family.   It was a cold, winter night and he’d been walking the streets aimlessly when he'd passed by a medical center and seen a bright sign out of the corner of his eye. 

“Donate an organ, save a life,” the sign had said. For that brief moment, he thought maybe the dull pain he felt inside every day could somehow be eased by giving away a piece of himself to help someone else feel more whole. 

Derek had immediately swung open the door, walked in, and signed up to be a donor.  A kind doctor guided him through the process of signing up to be a donor upon potential death, and then talked him through the options for donating an organ while still alive.  He listened, asked questions, and ultimately decided to volunteer himself as a kidney donor. The medical center had done tests on him the next day, and the same smiling doctor had embraced him and thanked him as she told him they’d put him on the donor registry and would contact him if a match appeared. 

Derek had left the center, feeling lighter than he had in months.  Two days later, his sister died, and all thoughts of his potential donation flew out the window.

It’s not until years later, when he’s living in his old gometown, that he’s reminded of it.

 

Derek is in the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, after getting dozens of stitches in his hand.  He’d sliced it up pretty badly that morning while working on one of the gargantuan metal sculptures who's creation he’s managed to develop from a cathartic hobby into a sort of career.  

He’s staring at his hand morosely, wondering how long it will be before he can work again, when his nurse, Melissa, comes into the room, smiling shyly at him.  She seems a little nervous, and Derek does his best not to panic.

“Am I okay?” he asks her quickly as she walks over to him.

She places a hand on his arm, placating him quickly. “Yes! Absolutely fine! Your stitches were done perfectly. You'll heal well with minimal scarring.”  

Derek relaxes immediately, but Melissa doesn’t seem any more calm.  He studies her intently, watching her fiddle with the chart she’s holding in her hands.

The room remains silent until Melissa finally says, “However...I did notice in your records that you’re, um, a donor? Specifically, you’re registered as a kidney donor?” she glances up at him briefly.

Derek stares blankly at her without comprehension before the memory of the New York medical center comes flooding back.

“Oh,” he states, “Yeah, I guess.”

Melissa looks even more nervous now as she bites her lip and stares down at his chart.  Then she takes a deep, steadying, breath and looks him straight in the eye.

“Derek, I’m going to be completely honest with you.”  She squeezes his arm gently. “My stepson-he’s an amazing kid. I love him as much as I would if he was my own son-he’s smart, and sarcastic, and witty, and just plain _good_.  But he’s sick-and he needs a kidney transplant, badly.  Like as soon as possible.  And you-Derek-you’re a match.”

All of Derek’s breath rushes out of him at once.  The room goes a little bit hazy, and it is also painfully silent as Melissa's works reverberate through Derek's mind.

Eventually, Derek finds the ability to unstick his throat and hoarsely croak out, "Me?"

“Yes,” Melissa says softly, “You.  And I know you’re a stranger and you don’t know him at all-and it looks like you registered a couple years ago, so I’m not sure if you’re still interested-“

The roaring in Derek’s ears gets too loud for him to keep listening, but Melissa keeps talking.  Derek hasn’t thought about this in years-he’s not even sure what prompted him to register in the first place-but he remembers the feeling he had when he registered.  A feeling of accomplishment, of pride.  Like he was doing something good.  He can’t remember when he’s felt that way since.

He tunes back into the conversation when he hears Melissa say, “He’s gets dialysis a few times  a week-he’s doing it on the third floor right now, actually-“ 

Derek cuts her off. “Can I meet him?” he asks abruptly.

 Melissa pauses, and takes a stunned step back.  “I-You want to meet him?”

Derek nods. “I’m not saying-I just-can I meet him?”

Melissa smiles hesitantly. “Yeah. Okay, sure.  You're all done here, so you can...follow me.”

 

As they walk down the hall, Derek’s mind keeps spinning.  He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he’s hoping maybe seeing this guy will help him figure it out.

They walk into a room with a row of recliners set up along the wall, each set up next to a dialysis machine.   There are a few patients in the room, but Melissa walks him over to a recliner in the middle of the row.   On the wall behind it is a variety of posters: from Spiderman, to World of Warcraft, to All Time Low.  They look slightly ridiculous against the bleak, blank walls of the hospital.

“Stiles has taken to decorating what he calls ‘his seat,’” Melissa explains, making air quotations as they approach the recliner, “Despite the fact I have repeatedly told him that it’s against hospital policy.”

“Hey!” the guy in the seat retorts, “I’ll take ‘em down the moment someone complains about them. I’m just trying to bring some joy to the joint.”  At his words, Derek brings his eyes down from the posters to the guy in the chair. 

He has messy brown hair, gelled straight up in all directions.  There's a pair of glasses perched on his nose, and he's got on a bright plaid shirt worn over a dark gray t-shirt.  The guy-Stiles-has moles running along the side of his face, and long skinny fingers that are tapping energetically against the huge book he’s holding in his lap.  Derek had been expecting someone younger, but although he _looks_ youthful-Derek is guessing he’s not far off from Derek's own age.

Stiles stops bantering with Melissa and glances over at Derek. “Who’s this?” he asks Melissa, smiling slyly at Derek.

“This-is Derek,” Melissa responds nervously.

 Stiles smiles even more brightly as he flicks his eyes back over to her.  “Aw, Melissa! Did you bring me some eye candy to cheer me up? Are you honoring my last dying wish?”

Derek feels himself blush.  He knows, objectively, that he’s attractive, but it’s not often that he gets called out on it.  He thinks Stiles is pretty attractive as well, but he’s not just going to come out and _say_ it.

Melissa picks up the book Stiles is holding and smacks him lightly with it. “You’re not dying, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs and says, “Yeah, maybe not _today_.”  He’s joking, but Derek looks him over-he seems a little pale and fragile despite his lively, bright eyes.  Stiles extends a hand and says, “Hi, I’m Stiles.”

Derek takes a step forward extends his uninjured hand to gently shake Stiles'.  It’s warm and soft against Derek’s rough, calloused hand.

“What’d you do to that one?” Stiles asks, gesturing at Derek’s bandaged hand.

Derek clears his throat. “Cut it,”  he answers simply.

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, I certainly feel like I got the full picture there.”

Derek fights a small smile. Again, he knows he’s not very eloquent, but it's normally not verbally acknowledged by other people.

He tries again. “I carve sculptures.  Metal ones.  A piece slipped,” he says with a shrug.

“Wicked,” Stiles says, his eyes lighting up.  “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of the cut?” Derek blanches.

Stiles throws his head back and laughs-a real, deep laugh.  Derek can’t remember the last time he made someone laugh.

“Of your _sculptures_ ,” Stiles clarifies, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Derek responds, “Yeah.  I have some on my phone.”

“Can I see them?” Stiles asks.

Derek hesitates.  “Okay,” he finally says, pulling out his phone.

“Melissa, grab this gentleman a chair!”  Stiles orders.

Melissa rolls her eyes, but drags a rolling chair from the corner of the room over and puts it next to Stiles’ chair. 

Derek eyes the wires going from Stiles to the machine warily, but Stiles draws his attention back to him. “Let’s see!” he says gleefully.  So Derek shows him. 

Stiles wants to see all of the pictures in detail; he makes Derek zoom in on them and describe them better.  He asks Derek all kinds of questions-how he sculpts, where his ideas come from, if he listens to music while he works, what he does with the sculptures when they’re done-and Derek answers them easily.  He’s honestly never met someone as curious as Stiles seems to be.

 

It’s about 30 minutes later when a man in a police uniform enters into the room.

“Aw, Stiles, who’re you bothering now?”  the man asks as he walks over.

“I’m not bothering him!” Stiles retorts.  He turns to Derek and asks earnestly, “I’m not bothering you, right?”

“No,” Derek answers honestly.

“Told ya,” Stiles responds, turning back to the man. “Sup, pops?  This is Derek-Derek, this is my dad.”

Derek stands up to shape the man’s hand, noting that his uniform indicates that he's a Sheriff.  “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

“Likewise,” the Sheriff says.  “And Derek, you’re a friend of Stiles’?”

Derek opens his mouth to answer, but Melissa comes into the room and saves him. Derek hadn't even noticed that she'd left. 

“Hi, John,” she says, coming up next to the Sheriff and kissing him swiftly on the cheek. 

“Hi,” he responds softly, smiling back at her. Stiles fake-gags at Derek and Derek rolls his eyes in response, causing Stiles to laugh.

Broken from their reverie, the Sheriff turns his attention back to Stiles. "You okay, son?" he asks.

Stiles shrugs.  "Yeah, fine. How are you?"

The Sheriff ignores his question. "Are you comfortable?"

Stiles hesitates. "I mean, it's a little cold in here, but I'm fine-" the Sheriff cuts him off before he can finish his thought.

"I have a blanket in the car. I'll go get it."

Stiles waves a hand at him. "No, dad, I'm fine. It's fine."

"Nope, I'm getting it. I'll be right back," the Sheriff responds.  He leans down to ruffle Stiles’ hair before rushing out of the room.

Stiles turns back to Derek, sighing. “He’ll do pretty much anything for me at this point.  It’s because he feels guilty about not being able to donate to me-he’s not a match.”

“Oh,” Derek says dumbly, suddenly remembering what he's doing here, why he's talking to Stiles in the first place.  He feels his gut start to sink.

“And my mom passed away when I was a kid, so…” Stiles says it with nonchalance, but he’s fiddling with the pages of his book in a way that suggests he feels anything but that.

Suddenly, the room has gotten too small and the air too thin for Derek to breathe properly.  Stiles is too full of _life_ , for someone who isn’t experiencing enough of it.   He’s lost his mom, and has a dad who loves him, and Derek-Derek needs to leave.  He needs to get out of this room right now.

“I have to go,” he says abruptly.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles says with a small frown.

“Bye,” Derek says awkwardly.

“Yeah, bye, I guess,” Stiles responds, pushing his glasses up his nose with a thumb.  Derek turns and walks toward the door.  "It was nice to meet you!" Stiles calls after him.

When Derek's out of the room, he slumps int the nearest chair just outside of it.  He stares at the blank wall in front of him, thoughts swimming, until he sees Melissa exit the room a few minutes later, looking a little sad.

She spies him in the seat and pauses, surprised. “Derek!” she exclaims, “I thought you left.”

Derek shakes his head and stands up on wobbly legs. “No.”

Melissa looks at him cautiously.  "So..."

Derek nods, slowly, to himself at first, and then glances up to look Melissa straight in the eyes. “I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surgery and such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said before, everything I know about this whole process is from a 20 min Google so it's probably not entirely accurate. Be forewarned ;)

“You’ll do it?” Melissa asks, eyes widening incredulously. 

Derek nods. He feels like the ground is moving beneath his feet, but thinks maybe it’s a good kind of movement. It’s shaky now, but maybe it’ll stabilize him in the long run.

“Just…don’t tell him it’s me," he says.

Now Melissa looks confused. “Don’t tell him you're the donor? But-”

Derek shakes his head. “No. It should be anonymous.”

“Okay,” Melissa says. Then, more softly, “Okay.” She peers up at him, eyes a little bit shiny. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I really am.”

xx

Derek shows up at the hospital the next day for some final tests, to make sure he’s still physically healthy and fit to undergo the surgery. Once the tests are done, Melissa finds him and tells him he just has a psychological evaluation left before he can leave.

“What?” Derek’s head snaps up so fast that it hurts.

Melissa rolls her eyes fondly at him. “It’s just a doctor asking you some questions to make sure you’re emotionally prepared for the surgery and the recovery. You’ll be fine,” she says, as she not-so-subtly directs him towards an office door.

He sends her a panicked look, but she gives him a gentle nudge through the doorway and he walks into the doctor’s office, stomach buzzing with nerves. Derek doesn’t like to talk about his feelings. At all. He has way too much buried sadness and guilt to make it even remotely enjoyable. So being told he has to have a psychological evaluation is potentially worse than having to undergo surgery.

The doctor sitting behind the desk is a dark-haired man, seemingly in his 40s. He waves Derek in with a polite smile. “Derek, come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

Derek doesn’t think comfortable is possible in this situation, but he takes a seat across from the doctor anyway.

The doctor leans forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “It's nice to meet you. This is a great thing you’re doing, Derek.”

Derek just nods dumbly at him.

“Can I ask you why you’re choosing to donate to a complete stranger?” the doctor asks, rather bluntly.

Derek hesitates. He’s not ready to discuss his past or his real motivations. He decides that the doctor doesn’t need to know those. Derek just needs to convince him that's his okay with it and then he can leave.

“I’ve just...I always wanted to do something good. This feels good,” Derek states. The doctor just looks at him, clearly expecting more.

“Plus-Stiles isn’t a stranger," Derek continues, "I’ve met him. He’s a good guy. He has a dad who loves him, and a stepmom too. He’s a good guy in a crappy situation. I'm lucky enough to have two fully functioning kidneys, so I have one to spare. It’s not fair, and-I just want to help.” Derek finishes his awkward monologue with a shrug, hoping that's enough reason for the doctor to accept.

The doctor beams at him. “Well, all of us at the hospital love Stiles, so I’m certainly not going to argue with you. Now, Derek, are you prepared for the recovery as well as the potential complications and consequences of this surgery?”

“I think so?” Derek answers.

“Well, I’m required to go through them with you by law, so…” The doctor then starts listing after-effects of the surgery. Pain, weakness, restrictions on physical activity...Derek starts tuning out, too afraid that he’ll chicken out if he hears too many bad things. The doctor starts droning on about potential surgical complications as well as future risks, and Derek nods along with him while thinking intently about what he needed to add to his latest sculpture.

“So,” the doctor finally says, “Are you okay with all of that?”

Derek nods, voice stuck in his throat. He coughs briefly and then says, “Yes.”

“Okay! Then you’ll just need to sign…” the doctor hands a clipboard over to him, “Each page of this form.”

Derek takes the clipboard and the pen, signing it immediately. He’s doing this. He’s really doing this. He’s going to change a life. He’s going to change Stiles’ life.

When he hands the clipboard back the doctor is smiling again. “Alright, we’ll schedule the surgery for tomorrow morning. Stiles had all of his tests done this morning and he’s good to go as well.”

“Tomorrow?” Derek repeats, shocked.

The doctor quirks an eyebrow at him. “Is that a problem?”

Derek thought he would have more time to mentally prepare, but when he gives it a second thought, he’s not sure that would help. It’s probably better to get it over with.

“That’s fine,” Derek finally says. “What time?”

“7AM,” the doctor says. “We’ll have to prep you and everything, but the surgery should only take about 2 hours. Then you’ll be here for another week-we’ll be testing you and keeping you under observation. We’ll do the surgery laparoscopically, so you’ll only have a few small scars-here, here, and here,” he says, pointing at a few spots on the chest and stomach of a diagram of the human body behind him.

 _Scars._ Derek hadn’t thought about scars. His pulse picks up a bit. “You still okay, Derek?” the doctor asks cautiously.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Yes. I’m fine. I want to do this.” He says it to convince the doctor, but finds that he really means it. “I do.”

The doctor looks down at his papers again, reviewing them for a moment. He then glances up at Derek, gaze curious. “Last question: It says you want to be anonymous? I thought you said you know Stiles?”

Derek shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes,” he says, not offering up anything else.

“Okay…” the doctor says. “Well, to each his own I suppose. It'll be our secret.” He stands up, and Derek stands up with him.

“See you tomorrow,” the doctor says, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

Derek nods at him. “Tomorrow.” He turns to leave the room, and as he does so the doctor says, “And thanks for your donation.”

xx

When Derek gets to the hospital the next morning, he’s jittery. His stomach is in knots and he vaguely feels like throwing up. He's a little worried about running into Stiles, so he gets there at 6:30 and checks in early. Melissa is there when she arrive, and she leads him into his hospital room, trying to ease his mind with small talk. It doesn’t work, but it’s a nice gesture.

“Stiles’ room is next door, but he doesn’t know that. So he won’t see you,” she eventually says.

“Good,” Derek responds.

Melissa peers down at him, warm brown eyes searching his own. “You’re sure you don’t want him to know?”

“I’m sure,” Derek says confidently.

“Okay, well, here’s the remote-feel free to watch TV until it’s time,” she says, handing him the remote control before she leaves.

Derek turns it on and let’s Animal Planet keep his mind off of the situation until a doctor comes back into the room. Everything moves quickly after that. He’s prepped and wheeled away before he even has time to process it all, and before he knows it he’s in the OR, with the anesthesiologist looking down at him.

“Ready Derek?” she asks him, putting a mask over his face. 

He nods, too overcome with nerves to be able to speak. Then everything goes dark. 

xx

When Derek wakes up, he’s in pain. He’s sore and dizzy and highly uncomfortable. He groggily opens his eyes to see Melissa there.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says gently. “You feeling okay?”

Derek opens his mouth to weakly say, “Hurts.”

Melissa nods. “I know. I’ll get you some more meds, okay?” 

"Thanks," he whispers.

Melissa hesitates for a moment. “Derek, I noticed you didn’t put anyone down as an emergency contact. Is there anyone you want us to call and tell that you’re doing okay?”

Derek wants to shake his head, but that hurts too much, so he just says, “No.” Before Melissa can give him any sympathetic looks, he asks, “How’s Stiles?”

“He’s doing just fine," Melissa beams, "The surgery went perfectly and everything seems to be taking well so far.”

Derek smiles to himself. “I can keep you updated if you’d like,” Melissa adds.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Please.”

 

Derek spends the next week in his hospital bed, mostly watching Discovery Channel and Animal Planet, only interrupted by sleep and visits from doctors checking his fluids, vitals, and other things he doesn’t fully understand. Melissa comes in a few times a day and keeps him company on her lunch breaks, which Derek finds he really enjoys. It's been a while since he's had a mother figure around.

She updates him on Stiles, everyday, too. “He’s insisted on decorating his room, again, even though he’s only going to be there for a week.” “He’s already asking when he can play lacrosse again.” “He sent his dad out for curly fries at 11 o’clock last night. He’s not even sick anymore and that boy is incorrigible.” Derek feels a sudden warmth in his chest at her words. He’s _not even sick anymore_. Because of Derek. Derek did that. 

Derek learns lots of little things about Stiles from Melissa’s updates, and he’s glad. It’s nice to get to hear bits and pieces about the person he helped. It makes it feel more meaningful somehow.

When Derek is finally let out of the hospital, a week later, Melissa wheels him down to the lobby in a wheelchair. “Patients have to go out on a chair. Hospital policy,” she explains. She leaves him in the waiting area while he waits for the hospital shuttle to come pick him up and take him home-something Melissa had arranged after he told her that he didn’t have anyone to drive him.

Melissa moves him into a waiting room chair and takes the wheelchair back for another patient. Derek is waiting and reading a magazine about sports cars when he hears a familiar voice a distance away. He looks up to see Stiles, being rolled down the hall by his dad. “And then we should hit up Wendy’s, because I haven’t had a Frosty in _ages,_ ” Stiles is saying. 

Derek momentarily tries to figure out how to hide himself from view, but he’s not quick enough. Stiles’ eyes rake over the room, and widen in surprise when he sees Derek. “Derek!” he calls out, ushering his dad to wheel him closer to him. “What are you doing here?”

Derek has never been at Stiles’ height level before. He’s surprised to see that Stiles’ bright eyes are a soft amber color, and seem even more lively than they did when he last saw him. Derek grasps for an answer to Stiles' question, glancing around until his eyes fall on his bandaged hand. 

“Getting my stitches out,” Derek explains, waving his hand in the air. It’s not a complete lie, the doctor had taken them out that morning.

“Wicked,” Stiles responds. Then, “Guess what?” he adds with a grin.

“What?” Derek asks, trying not to be distracted by the way Stiles' smile shows off his cheekbones.

“I got a transplant,” Stiles states, smiling even broader.

Derek’s stomach flips. His mouth goes dry but he forces himself to ask, “You did?”

Stiles nods enthusiastically. “Yupp!” He points a thumb at himself. “You’re looking at a completely healthy guy. Well, I’m a little sore and technically I’m still healing, but...I’m healthy!” His smile is so genuine that Derek can’t help smiling back, his secret making something warm bloom in his chest.

“That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you,” Derek insists truthfully.

“Thanks, man. _And_ it was from a living donor-I didn’t even have to take some dead guy’s organ.”

“Stiles,” his dad chastises from behind him. Derek had forgotten he was even there.

Stiles sombers. “Not that I wouldn’t have been grateful for that, but...this way is slightly less creepy, you know? More heartwarming.

Derek laughs heartily. "Sure," he agrees.

“I just wish I knew who it was. So I could thank them. I mean...they gave me a whole new life, kind of,” Stiles says, staring down at his hands and speaking softly. "And I can't give them anything back."

Derek has to clear his throat, waiting a beat too long to reply. “I’m sure they know,” he finally states.

The Sheriff leans forward then. “Ready to go, kid?” he asks Stiles.

"You bet,” Stiles answers. He looks back over at Derek. “Hey, thanks for showing me your pictures of your sculptures the other day. They’re awesome.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for thinking they’re awesome,” Derek responds.

Stiles smiles warmly at him. “They were! I bet they’re even better in person.”

Derek pauses, pulse jumping. He’s not sure if Stiles is trying to give him an opening, or if sure if Stiles even means anything by his comment. If feels like it might be an opportunity, but if so, it's not one that Derek's sure he should take. Before he can even consider his options, however, he finds himself blurting out, “I could show you.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. 

“If you wanted,” Derek adds, instantly nervous.

“Yeah. I want. We-you could do that. Let’s do that. I’ll give you my number," Stiles says, looking at Derek expectantly.

Derek pulls his phone out of his pocket with slightly shaky hands and passes it to Stiles, who types his number in with quick fingers. He hands the phone back to Derek and says, “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Later,” Derek responds, slightly shocked by the entire situation.

Stiles’ dad says goodbye and starts rolling Stiles out of the doors while Derek watches them, dazed. Before they get outside, Stiles turns in his seat and _winks_ at Derek. Derek's heart lurches and something twists in his gut. He is so, so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all. More coming soon :)


	3. Chapter 3

Derek doesn’t do anything for a week.  He tells himself he’s still recovering, that he’s busy, that he should give himself some time.  He takes his phone out several times a day, talking himself in and out of texting Stiles.

Eventually, he’s lying in his bed looking at Stiles’ contact information, glaring at him in the dark.  He stares at Stiles’ number-at this point he honestly has it memorized-and then hits the icon for a new message.

“ _Hi_ ,” he types.

He erases it immediately.  That’s way too formal.  He tries again. “ _Hey_.”

He spends ten minutes staring at those three letters with his thumb hovering over the send button before he sneezes and-accidentally-hits send.

“Shit,” he says, bolting upright in his bed.  His heart starts pounding.  It’s ten o’clock, way too late to send a casual message. But the message is sent, there’s nothing he can do now. Except maybe, bury his phone?  Destroy it?  Hide forever?  He doesn’t get long to consider his options because his phone beeps less than a minute later.  Derek glances at it warily.

“ _Hi :)_ ” the message reads.

All anxiety Derek felt about the text eases out of him immediately. He bites his thumb as he debates how to respond.

“ _How are you_?” Easy.

Another instant response. “ _Good, you?_ ”

“ _Good._ ”

Derek tries not to panic.  What now? They’re out of conversation.  Except, his phone beeps again.

“ _Who is this?_ ”

Derek groans and throws his phone onto the bed next to him.  He’d forgotten Stiles didn’t even have his number.  He takes a moment to compose himself before typing, “ _Derek._ " He starts to type, " _From the hospital,_ " but Stiles beats him to it.

 _"Hey, Derek :)_ " Derek swallows hard as his heart rate picks up.  Suddenly, he wants to cut and run.

“ _Hi. Again._ ”  He types out.  Then adds, “ _How’s the healing?_ ”

Stiles responds quickly again. “ _It’s fine. Easier than I thought! So that’s good_.”

“ _Yeah. That is._ ” Derek answers, wanting to punch himself for such a stupid response.

“ _How about you?  How’s the hand_?”  Stiles responds, rescuing the conversation.

“ _Good_ ,” Derek responds, “ _Doesn’t hurt at all anymore_.”

“So it’s not affecting your work then?”

Derek's not dumb.  He recognizes where Stiles is trying to take the conversation, and he knows it’s up to him to bring it all the way there.

“ _No_ ,” Derek sends,  immediately feeling cowardly.  He takes a deep breath and then adds, “ _I’m actually finishing up a piece tomorrow, if you want to come see_?”

Instantly, he feels like he was too bold. “ _No pressure,"_ he adds.

_“I know it’s late.”_

_“If you’re busy we can do it another time.”_

He’s starting to type more excuses, but Stiles interrupts him. “ _Nope, I’m free tomorrow! What time?_ ”

Derek lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“ _10am?”_

Stiles’ response takes longer than his other ones, and Derek starts feeling nervous.

“ _I’ll set an alarm,_ ” Stiles finally answers.

Derek laughs. “ _For 10am?”_

“ _Not a morning person_ ,” Stiles explains.

Derek is halfway through suggesting a different time when Stiles adds, “ _But I’ll be there._ ”

 _“Okay_ ,” Derek says.  He texts him the address and waits for Stiles to respond.

“ _Got it!_ ” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t know if that signifies the end of the conversation, or if he’s supposed to do more, so he settles on saying, “ _Goodnight._ ”

“ _It’s 10:30_ ,” Stiles texts back.

“ _It’s bedtime,_ ” Derek retorts.

_“Yeah, for an old man.”_

Derek rolls his eyes. “ _We’ll see how you feel about that statement at 10am tomorrow.”_

“ _Haha dude. See you at the crack of dawn.”_

 _“See you_ ,” Derek says, “ _At a completely normal hour_.”

He puts his phone on his bedside table and leans back against his pillow.  Looking up at his ceiling, he starts absently running his fingers over the scars in his torso, trying not to think about the guy with the matching ones on his own chest.

  
  
\--

Derek gets to his workshop at 9 the next day and stands in front of the sculpture he’s been working on.  He’s glad he’s near the end of this one, since he’ll just be tweaking and adding to it and won’t need to do any heavy lifting-which he’s not supposed to do for a few weeks after the surgery.

He sets up his workstation and eyes the clock, which speeds by until it’s 10am.  At 10:15, Stiles bursts through the door.  If Derek thought Stiles' energy was excessive when he was sitting in the dialysis chair, Stiles’s energy outside of a dialysis chair is a force to be reckoned with. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, cheeks tinged pink from exertion. “Sorry I’m late.  I snoozed my alarm...roughly five times. But...I got coffee!”  He holds up two coffee cups in his hands and shakes them lightly.  One of them spills a bit and drips on the floor.

“Oops,” he says with a laugh.  He pulls a few napkins out of his back pocket and leans down to clean it up. “I spill a lot.  I came prepared.”  Derek doesn’t even try not to find that endearing.  He does try to keep his eyes away from Stiles’ ass as he bends over, but fails pretty spectacularly at that.

When Stiles straightens back up, he walks over to Derek and hands him a coffee.  “It’s just regular coffee.  I didn’t know what kind you would want."  He rubs the back of his neck.

Derek takes a sip and immediately gags. “I don’t think this is regular,” he says, grimacing against the ridiculously sweet flavors assaulting his mouth.

Stiles' cheeks flush and he takes the drink back from Derek.  “Shit, man, sorry. That one must be mine.”

“It tastes like they filled it entirely with syrup and forgot the coffee,” Derek says, taking the other drink from Stiles and trying to wash the disgusting flavor down with real coffee.

“Just the way I like it,” Stiles says, “Sickeningly sweet,” he winks at Derek and Derek turns away to keep Stiles from seeing him blush.

“So, this is your workspace, huh?” Stiles asks, and Derek yet again finds himself grateful for Stiles’ ability to maintain a conversation whenever Derek falls silent.

Derek nods, turning to face him again.  “Yeah, this is it.  I used to work out of my loft, but that started to get a bit too messy.  When I actually started selling my work, I bought this place and moved it all here.  It’s much better than tripping over pieces of metal in the middle of the night.”

Stiles grins at him.  “You a midnight snacker, Derek?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I have trouble sleeping, sometimes.”

“So you make your way to the fridge, pull out a carton of ice cream?”

Derek just glares at him, because he’s mostly right.  “Cookie dough,” he answers honestly.

Stiles pulls back his head and laughs, making Derek’s chest flood with warmth.  “I’m a midnight chocolate cake guy myself.”

Derek smiles at him  “Do you have trouble sleeping, too?”

Stiles shrugs.  “I just get hungry a lot.”

Derek laughs and Stiles sobers a bit, pushing his glasses up his nose.  “Yeah, I have some trouble sleeping.  Have ever since my mom died.”

Derek swallows around the lump in his throat.  “Same,” he says, and Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise.

“Since both my parents died,” he continues, the words falling out of his mouth like lead.  He doesn’t tell many people that, doesn’t really tell anyone, but it feels right to tell Stiles, who’s lost a parent, who can understand.

Derek turns away and points to the sculpture in the very middle of the room.  “I made that sculpture for them,” he says in a small voice.

Stiles looks at it, then back at Derek. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the large statue.

Derek nods and Stiles walks over to it, slowly.  He circles around it, not touching it, just taking it in.

Derek walks over too and stands beside him.  “It’s beautiful,” Stiles says, reverently.  Derek looks down at the two wolves, intertwined together, faces raised up at the sky.  It’s his most important piece, the one he’s most proud of.  The one he’ll never sell.  “They look happy,” Stiles adds.

“They were,” Derek says, sadly.  He feels Stiles’ arm press against him and feels immediate comfort in his presence.

“Wanna explain that one to me?” Stiles asks after a few moments of silence.  Derek looks up at what Stiles is pointing to.  It’s a bronze statue of a clown.  Grateful for the change in mood, he chuckles and walks them over to it.

“That’s for a client,” he explains.  “A children’s hospital.  Although why kids would want to see a clown is beyond me.”

Stiles steps closer to it.  “You did a pretty good job of making it less creepy, I guess.”  He shudders. “But clowns always weird me out.”

“Let me show you the one I’m working on now,” Derek says, leading Stiles across the room to his worktable.  It’s a flat piece, just a sheet of metal, into which Derek has burned tons of fish, each one different from the next.

“Woah,” Stiles says. “How did you even come up with all of these?  They’re all so unique.”

Derek grins, pleased that Stiles noticed. “I don’t know.  It just comes naturally.  I think it’d be harder to make them all the same.”

Stiles looks at it for a few moments, long fingers tracing the outline of a large blowfish.

“I just have a couple more to do.  Um, you can watch if you want," Derek states tentatively.

“Will that make you nervous?” Stiles asks.  “I know I can’t even concentrate if someone’s looking over my shoulder while I Google something.”

Derek hesitates. “I don’t know. No one’s ever watched me before."

Stiles’ eyes soften and Derek has to tear his gaze away from them before he does something stupid.   Instead he just says, “You’ll have to wear a helmet and stand far back, though,"

“I can do that,” Stiles agrees.

Derek gets him the appropriate equipment and puts his own, more elaborate equipment on as well.  Stiles gives him a thumbs up and Derek settles into work.

It’s different at first, knowing someone else is there, watching him.  But Derek thinks about how kindly Stiles had looked at Derek’s sculpture of his parents, and the awe in his eyes when he’d seen this piece, and his insecurities melt away.  He gets lost in his work, the way he usually does, and forgets Stiles is even there until he finishes and surfaces again some 40 minutes later.  He glances at the clock on the wall as he removes his helmet.

“Sorry,” he says immediately.  “I didn’t know it was taking that long.  I hope you weren’t too bored.”

Stiles removes his own helmet, and Derek’s heart flutters at Stiles’s messy helmet hair.

“No, dude, that was awesome.  Truly great.  I’ve never seen someone work like that.  You’re-it’s kind of mesmerizing.”

Derek doesn’t miss the Freudian slip.  He smiles at Stiles genuinely.  “Thanks.  Would you-would you want to see some other ones?”

“You know it,” Stiles responds easily.

Derek leads him to another work table in the room, on top of which is the binder that holds pictures of all of his previous works.  They spend the next half hour flipping through it, with Stiles asking questions about pieces here and there.

Eventually, Derek asks him, “What about you? What do you do?”

“Do?” Stiles asks, looking up at Derek blankly.

“Yeah.  I sculpt.  What do you do?”

Stiles scratches at his cheek nervous. “I…I don’t know, yet.  I’ve been so focused on…being sick, I never really let myself consider all of the options.  I’m halfway through college, but-I haven’t picked a major yet. Just done all of the core classes.  It took me a little longer than everyone else, my friends all have their degrees by now, but I’m hoping now that I’m well I can finish it in a year or so…If I ever figure out what I want to do, that is.”

“You will,” Derek says confidently.

Stiles smiles up at him slowly.  “Right now I’m just enjoying eating as much bacon as I want.”

Derek laughs.  “Really?”

“Yeah, man, my dad kept me from it while I was sick, but now...I’m going wild.  Mostly at Maria’s Diner, of course.”

“I've ever been,” Derek says.

Stiles’ jaw drops. “Are you kidding,” he deadpans.

“No?” Derek answers, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“They have the best bacon in America, Derek. In maybe the whole world.”

“The whole world?” Derek asks sceptically.

“The whole world.  We’re going.  I’m taking you there,” Stiles announces.

Derek pulls back the smile threatening to cross his face. “Okay,” he agrees, and Stiles beams at him before his eyes flit to the clock.

“But not right now.  I’ve gotta go.  I promised my dad I’d get lunch with him on his break.”

"Oh, okay,” Derek responds.  He's surprised at how much he hates the idea of Stiles leaving.

Stiles starts to back out of the room, but he stops and walks forward again, wrapping Derek in a quick hug that Derek is too stunned to peoperly respond to.  

“But I’ll text you,” Stiles says as he pulls away, “Marie’s Diner. It’s happening.”

“Marie's,” Derek repeats dumbly.

“Marie's,” Stiles repeats, winking before he turns and walks out the door.  

Derek stares after him and vaguely starts wondering when he’ll see him again.  Does he text Stiles first? Or does he wait for Stiles to text him?  How does he keep himself from seeming too eager? Before he gets too deep into thought, his phone beeps. It’s a text from Stiles.

 _“Is tomorrow too soon for Marie’s_?” the text reads.  

Derek grins. Maybe he doesn’t need to worry about seeming too eager after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking maybe 2 more chapters? We'll see :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bacon.

The next day crawls by. Derek spends most of it staring at the clock waiting for 6pm to roll around, at which point he can finally stop watching the clock and go meet Stiles at Marie's.

It's not until he starts driving to the Diner that the nerves set in. He takes a right out of his apartment block and suddenly starts questioning whether or not this is even a date. Sure, he'd felt like he and Stiles had been flirty, but maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe this is just two bros hanging out. Maybe Stiles tells everyone about his favorite bacon.

His nerves only get worse when he approaches the restaurant and sees Stiles standing outside, leaning on his Jeep and typing on his phone. He's got on a red and yellow flannel shirt over a white t-shirt, a combination that would probably be cringe-worthy on anyone else, but somehow miraculously looks good on him.

Derek parks his car next to Stiles', steels himself, and opens the door. He's surprised when Stiles greets him with a quick hug, wrapping his arms around his back. Derek can't help wincing a little bit; the embrace tugs a little bit on his still-sensitive scars, but he manages to hide it from Stiles. 

"Are you healing okay?" Derek can't help asking.

Stiles looks at him sheepishly. "Yeah! Well, okay, so that hug hurt a little bit, but it was worth it."

Derek feels warm all over both at Stiles' comment and the fact that he and Stiles are in the same stage of their healing. He follows Stiles towards the restaurant, forcing himself not to indulge that train of thought. This is just a regular date, between two regular people. Okay, maybe not, but Derek is going to treat it as such.

When they walk into the restaurant, Derek holds the door open for Stiles and earns himself a wink that makes his knees vaguely achy. He lets Stiles direct them to a booth near the corner, which he declares is his favorite seat.

“So, are you ready for the best bacon of your life?” Stiles asks as they slide into the booth.

“I’m ready for what could _potentially_ be the best bacon of my life,” Derek responds smoothly.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. This _is_ the best bacon. Trust me.”

A waitress slides up next to the table, pulling out her pad of paper to take their orders.

“Hey Annabelle,” Stiles says immediately, beaming up at her.

She smiles back at him. “Stiles. Here again, are you? Just want another side of bacon?”

Derek chuckles and Stiles raises his eyebrows at him. "I feel no shame, Derek, and you will regret that laughter once you've tried it." He turns back to Annabelle. “Two sides of bacon, please. Also, pancakes would be good. Derek, do you like pancakes?”

Derek nods, and Stiles continues on. "Yeah, let’s get a stack of those too, please. Just put it all on my tab.”

Derek squirms in his seat. So Stiles is paying? This is a date then. It’s a date if one person pays, right?

Annabelle laughs and rolls her eyes. “We don’t have tabs here, Stiles.”

Stiles frowns. “Well you should.”

“Maybe just for you,” Annabelle responds with a chuckle. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

Stiles leans forward over the table once she’s gone, a conspiratorial look on his face. “So, Derek, how do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

They get into a heated debate about it; Stiles proclaims that it’s the king of all meals and should be indulged in regularly, and Derek maintains that it's only good if it's indulged in rarely. They keep bantering until Annabelle brings their food to the table. When it's set down, Stiles looks down at his plate of bacon reverently.

“It’s like looking into the eyes of God,” he whispers.

Derek reaches out and picks a piece up off of his own plate. “It can’t be that good,” he goads.

Stiles starts to glare at him, but then his expression suddenly shifts. “Shit, dude, now I’m nervous you won’t like it.”

“I actually don’t eat bacon,” Derek deadpans. 

Stiles’ jaw drops. 

“Just kidding,” Derek says with a smirk.

Stiles nudges his foot against Derek's underneath the table. “Oh my god, you had me so scared. I was about to launch into an apology about bringing you here without considering your dietary preferences.”

Derek nudges his foot back against Stiles’, pressing them together. “I’d still like to hear that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t move his foot away.

Derek brings the bacon up to his mouth, taking a slow bite while Stiles watches him intently.

Derek remains silent after he's done chewing, just to keep up the suspense and keep Stiles staring at him.

"Well?" Stiles finally asks impatiently.

"It's good," Derek finally answers honestly.

Stiles beams. “Really? You’re not just saying that? Honesty is important in a -it’s important, you know.”

“Really,” Derek answers, bringing another piece of bacon up to his mouth. "I like it."

Stiles settles into his seat, seemingly satisfied, and nudges his other foot up against Derek's. They stay that way for the rest of the meal, getting lost in a conversation about the best and worst foods they've ever tasted.

When they’re done, Annabelle brings them a check, and Stiles pays for the meal before Derek can even attempt to get out his own wallet. Instead, he busies himself with trying to hide his smile as Stiles signs the receipt.

Stiles waves goodbye to Annabelle and they head outside. When they enter the warm night air, Derek finds he's not ready to go. He can still feel a phantom warmth from where their calves were pressed against each other, and he's note quite ready to leave that feeling just yet.

“So-” Stiles begins, but Derek blurts out, “Do you like frozen yogurt?”

“Uh-yeah?” Stiles replies.

Derek goes for broke. “There’s a really good place around the corner from here. I don’t know if you’re full, but…” he trails off.

“Never too full for froyo!” Stiles responds. “Great idea. Lead the way, man.”

They walk down the sidewalk together, hands brushing occasionally, and Derek has to resist the urge to take Stiles's hand in his own the whole way there.

After they get their yogurt, they sit on a bench outside, laughing at the differences in their orders. Derek’s cup is filled with fruit. Stiles’, on the other hand, is covered in an assorted mountain of candy.

“You don’t have much of a sweet tooth, huh?” Stiles asks, giving him a sly grin.

Derek looks down at his froyo and frowns seriously. “Sure I do. There’s plenty of sweet things in here. Strawberries are sweet.”

Stiles laughs, eyes glinting in the evening sunlight. “Those don’t count. Those are healthy.”

“Healthy things can’t be sweet?” Derek asks.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “They can, but they're not sweet _enough._ ”

“So what’s sweet 'enough' then? M&Ms?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. And Reece's and Oreos, and…” he trails off for a moment, then looks up at Derek, studying his face. “And You.”

Derek’s heart falters and he feels his face heat up. Stiles is looking at him so genuinely and Derek can’t look away. He feels caught, trapped, but also like he might just float away if he doesn’t do something. So he does. He doesn’t think twice-just leans in and kisses Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t move at first, seemingly shocked by the sudden move, but then Derek feels him pressing back into him as he smiles against his lips.

When he pulls back a few inches, Stiles makes a fake disgusted face. “Man, now I taste like fruit.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles’ eyes dart between Derek’s and soften immediately. “No, I definitely didn’t.” He puts a soft hand around Derek’s neck, pulling him in and kissing him again.

When they finish their froyo, Derek walks them back to their cars, lingering by Stiles's door and kissing him slowly again before saying goodbye.

“So this was a date then,” Stiles says, with one hand curled around Derek's bicep.

“What? You didn’t know either?” Derek asks.

Stiles laughs, leaning his head back against the driver’s side window.

“I mean, I wanted it to be. But I wasn’t sure. I didn’t even know if you liked dudes.”

“I do,” Derek says. “And I like you.”

Stiles smiles at him and kisses him again. “Me too. I mean-I like you. Is what I mean. And this has been a really good night, so I'm going to leave before I do anything to mess it up."

"I don't think you could," Derek retorts honestly. At this point he's so gone on Stiles that it'd take something truly catastrophic to tear him away.

"Yeah, you say that now. Just wait until our fifth date and see what you think then," Stiles jokes.

Derek likes the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short but I felt like the first official date needed it's own chapter. Next one's gonna be...less buildup, more action. Thanks for reading y'all!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles founds out :o

After their date, Stiles becomes a regular staple in Derek’s life. Stiles signs up for a full course load at the local college, but still manages to see Derek almost every day. He comes to his workshop with a backpack of homework or books, to keep himself occupied while Derek works. Occasionally Derek will look up to find Stiles watching him with a small, private smile on his face. Derek never minds it because he’s watching him right back. 

When Stiles finishes his work, he generally sighs wistfully until Derek gets the hint and stops working as well. Derek always rolls his eyes but is secretly more than happy to stop working in favor of curling up on the couch with Stiles. Some nights they'll order food to be delivered, some nights they go out to eat. Other nights they’ll watch a movie on Derek’s ratty couch. And they make out. There’s a lot of that. And not much else. 

Derek loves being with Stiles, loves how he makes him feel. Loves how he makes Derek laugh even when he’s frustrated, how he makes Derek feel lighter and life more fun. They spend hours lying on the couch trading kisses and secrets; private things Derek had kept bottled up for years. They’re getting closer and closer, which makes Derek’s secret feel heavier and heavier.

The more time he spends with Stiles, the more Derek thinks about it. Stiles will walk into the room and Derek’s eyes will zero in on his torso without meaning to. When Derek cuddles with Stiles, he keeps finding one of his hands wrapped around Stiles and absently tracing exactly over the spot where his kidney is sitting. Each day, he knows that he needs to tell him. He can't continuing to keep this secret from Stiles if he wants to be with him. Keeping his own secret is bad enough, but keeping a secret that involves Stiles is infinitely worse. But Derek doesn't know how to tell him. He's terrified to. Things with Stiles are so good, and this secret could change everything. He doesn't know how to tell Stiles without it freaking him out. Derek just isn't ready to risk osing him yet.

So Derek keeps things PG. Limits their physical activity to heated, fully-clothed make out sessions on his couch, against the back of his door, and on one memorable occasion, the diner's bathroom. Stiles seems to be okay with it until one night, about two months into their relationship, when they’re kissing on Derek’s couch, and Stiles’ his start trailing underneath Derek’s shirt. Derek pulls away immediately. There's no way Stiles won't notice his scars if he takes his shirt off.

“Stiles,” he whispers, trying not to succumb to the feeling of Stiles sucking a sure to be impressive hickey into his neck.

“Hm?” Stiles says, not relenting his actions at all as his hands continuing to creep upward.

Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ wrists and stills him, cursing himself for this stupid secret. “I-”

Stiles lifts his head quickly and looks Derek in the eyes. His pupils are blown and his lips are kiss-swollen and Derek wants to do anything but stop.

He pulls himself together. “I-just-I’m not ready,” he proclaims.

Stiles pulls back a bit and smiles at him, pushing a tuft of hair off of Derek's forehead. “Okay. But, Derek, you I’m not asking you for everything right now, right?"

"What do you mean?" Derek asks.

Stiles sighs. "I just-I don't want you to feel like if you give me an inch, I'm suddenly going to take a mile. I feel like you feel that way."

"No," Derek says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

"Okay," Stiles says, smiling. "I should probably go, anyway. My dad's probably wondering where I am."

Derek frowns and Stiles laughs, pressing a finger into the crease between his eyebrows. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe. Don't look so sad." He gives him a last, lingering kiss before he leaves, and Derek lies on the couch for the next hour in complete inner turmoil.

He knows he has to tell Stiles. For one, it’s eating Derek alive to be keeping the secret bottled up inside of him. It’s also killing him just as much to keep his hands off of Stiles, if he’s being honest with himself.

So Derek decides to tell him. The two month mark from the first time they met is on Friday. Stiles keeps referring to it as their two-month-iverasry, which Derek pretends to hate, but secretly makes him preen a little bit. It seems like a good time to tell him. They've already got plans to go to the diner, so Derek will just enjoy that and savor a nice final memory together before Stiles probably breaks up with him. 

He decides to take Stiles back to his apartment and tell him there, so they can be in private. Derek’s going to do it. He’s going to tell him. He has to. On Friday.

\----

Friday rolls around, and Derek feels...terrible. To say the least. Around 10am, his stomach starts churning. How is he supposed to explain this? "Your stepmom asked me for my kidney and I thought you were cute and charming so I said yes? Also, I may have fallen in love with you've been ignorantly walking around with my kidney inside of you?" There's no explanation that makes it sound any better.

He tries to keep his mind occupied for the rest of the day, but fails horribly. The churning in his gut steadily gets worse as the hours speed by. He’s lying on the couch, shivering with nerves when Stiles busts through the door around 6 o’clock.

“Babe, I’m _starving_ -” Stiles calls out, and then pauses, staring warily at the way Derek is laid out across the couch. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Derek grunts. Stiles comes over to lie down next to him, and Derek perks up a little.

Stiles wraps an arm around Derek as he lies down next to him, face to face.

“You sure?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Derek answers, putting a hand on Stiles’ hip. “I’ll be fine.”

Stiles leans in to kiss him softly, and Derek settles into it, stroking a thumb absently across Stiles’ torso.

“Maybe we should just stay here,” Derek says. “I don’t need to eat.” He leans back in, but Stiles stops him.

“Derek. I wasn’t kidding before. I’m so hungry I will actually eat you,” Stiles says.

Derek laughs. “Fine. But we’ll come back here after, yeah?”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. If you want.”

“I want,” Derek says simply.

Stiles looks at him intently before breaking his gaze when his stomach grumbles. “Okay, we gotta get out of here.”

Stiles drives them to the diner, and Derek just feels worse and worse. By the time they take their seats, he’s sweating. His whole body feels insanely hot and shaky. He can't believe his nerves are making him feel this badly.

When the waitress, Annabelle again, comes to take their order, Derek blankly asks for a side of scrambled eggs.

“Is that all Derek? You usually get at least 3 sides. And a meal,” Annabelle says with a smile.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “I’m not very hungry.”

“Alright…” Annabelle says warily, moving on to Stiles, who orders 2 waffles, a stack of pancakes, and 2 sides of bacon.

Derek runs a hand across his forehead, trying to wipe away some of the perspiration that’s collected there. He grimaces as his stomach lurches, feeling like he’s being kicked in the gut. 

Stiles starts talking about his classes and an obnoxious professor while Derek nods along dumbly, trying to ignore the increasingly more intense pain in his abdomen. He watches Stiles talk and thinks about the fact that after tonight their time together could be over for good. 

When Annabelle brings their food, he pushes his eggs around on his plate. He can’t stomach the thought of eating anything right now when something so monumental is about to happen. Suddenly, he can’t take it anymore. He drops his fork back on his plate and looks up at Stiles. He just wants it all to be over with so he can stop feeling so crappy and start dealing with whatever the consequences will be.

He opens his mouth to speak, but-he’s going to be sick. He feels it rising up, the feeling overtaking him out of nowhere. Immediately, Derek bolts from his seat and books it to the restroom, making it just in time to puke into a sink. His stomach makes another sharp twang, and Derek clings to the sink and moans in pain.

A few moments later, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He glances up at the mirror to see Stiles standing behind him with a concerned look on his face.

“Okay, buddy,” Stiles says. “Somehow I just don’t think you’re fine.”

“No,” Derek grimaces. “I am, I’m just”- he pauses as bile threatens to rise in his stomach again, and he clutches his abdomen.

Stiles reaches across him and pulls a paper towel out of the holder, dampening it and running it soothingly across Derek’s forehead while Derek trembles under his ministrations.

“It’s just nerves,” Derek finishes dumbly.

Stiles re-wets the paper towel and runs it down Derek’s cheeks. “Babe. Even if there’s something you’re nervous about, which-” his eyebrows come together in a frown, “Is it because we’re going back to your place? Is it about physical stuff? If it is, Derek, you have nothing to be nervous about. You know I wouldn’t pressure you, right?” Derek nods once, wincing at how it jolts his brain around in his head.

“Regardless, there’s no way nerves are affecting you this badly, Derek. You just threw up, you’re all clammy, and you feel like you’re 1000 degrees. You’ve definitely got a fever, babe.”

Derek closes his eyes. Stiles has a point. Could his nerves really be manifesting this severely?

“My stomach really hurts,” he finally says.

Stiles purses his lips thoughtfully. “Okay. We’re going to go to the hospital, alright?”

Derek tries to shake his head. “No. Home.”

Stiles pins him with a look. “No. Derek. I’ve been sick for long enough to know what it looks like. You’re sick, like seriously sick, and I’m not letting you do anything except get taken care of.”

“You can take care of me.” Derek whispers.

The corner of Stiles’ mouth tugs up in a grin. “That’s sweet, but no. I mean professional care.”

Derek takes a deep breath, wincing as his stomach throbs again with pain. He thinks it over for a moment. Stiles has a point. What if this is serious? What’s if it’s some kind of complication from the kidney surgery? “Okay,” he finally says.

Stiles puts an arm around him to steady him. “Okay, babe, we’ll move slowly, okay? Just tell me if you need to stop.”

Derek let’s his weight rest on Stiles, who takes it admirably. Stiles gets him into the jeep, and drives carefully across town to the hospital. He turns the radio station to a calming oldies channel and asks him if he’s okay every 60 seconds or so.

When they get to the hospital, Stiles walks him in, sitting him in a chair and talking to the ER receptionist while Derek leans his head back against the wall behind him, trying and failing to block out the pain.

A few moments later, Stiles sits down next to him, taking his hand and rubbing soothing circles across his palm. He kisses it gently, and says. “You’re gonna be fine, Derek. Just hang on.”

What feels like hours later, but in reality is probably only 15 minutes, a nurse comes over and moves them to a bed in the ER. Derek lays on it gingerly as Stiles continues to hold his hand.

The nurse stands beside them and pulls a pen out of their pocket as they look over the papers on their clipboard. “Alright...Derek, is it?" Derek nods and the nurse continues, "What symptoms are you experiencing?”

“A lot of pain,” Derek grits out. “Especially here,” he point to the lower right side of his stomach.

“He also threw up in the restaurant bathroom and he definitely has a fever,” Stiles adds.

The nurse scribbles down a few notes on the sheet in front of him. “Can you describe the pain, please?”

“Feels like I’m being stabbed,” Derek states, trying desperately not to whine. Stiles clutches his hand tighter and runs his other hand through his hair.

“Alright, tell me if this makes it worse,” the nurse says, pressing down slightly on his abdomen. Derek yells as pain flares up all over his body.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Stiles says, face ashen.

The nurse nods. “Alright, Derek, to be honest I’m pretty sure you have appendicitis. You’ll probably need to get your appendix out immediately.”

“Shit,” Stiles and Derek say in unison. He feels Stiles give his hand a quick squeeze.

“I’m gonna ask you a couple more questions -just for paperwork and background information-and then we’ll book you and have you see a doctor, alright?” the nurse asks.

“Okay,” Derek says.

The nurse makes his way through a seemingly endless list of question detailing Derek's family medical history, occupation, general phsyical activity, etc.

“Are you currently on any medications?”

“No.”

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Have you undergone any surgery in the past year?”

Derek freezes. His entire body immediately goes from feeling like it’s on fire to feeling like it’s been drenched in ice.

“Um,” he says, eyes flicking over to Stiles’, who’s staring down at him intently.

“No, right?” Stiles asks.

Oh, God. Of all the ways Derek pictured this going, none of them possibilities were like this.

Derek swallows thickly. “No,” he says. “I mean. Yes. I had one.”

“Okay,” the nurse says. “What type of surgery?”

Derek tears his eyes away from Stiles’ face and looks at the nurse instead.

“Kidney. I donated one.”

He feels the grip Stiles has on his hand suddenly tighten, and then immediately go slack. Derek doesn't dare look at him. The nurse keeps asking questions, completely unaware of any kind of change in atmosphere.

“Any history heart disease in your family?

“No.”

Derek’s pulse is racing. He keeps his eyes trained on the doctor, cowardly, not wanting to see what Stiles’ face looks like right now Stiles is still holding his hand, but so loosely it feels like it might slip away at any moment.

"Anything else I should know about?"

"No."

The nurse nods. “Alright, that’s that. I’m going to take you to the doctor now. Mr. Stilinski, you’ll have to wait in the waiting room.”

Derek chances it. He glances up at Stiles for half a second. 

Stiles isn’t looking at him. He’s staring resolutely at a point across the room. Derek shifts his eyes back to the nurse.

He gingerly moves off of the bed, finally letting his hand slip from Stiles’ grip and trying not to collapse at the loss. He lets the nurse usher him into a wheelchair and Derek stares at the linoleum tiles beneath his feet.

As the nurse wheels him out of the room, Derek gives in, glancing back one more time as they approach the doorway. Stiles is still standing exactly where he left him, unmoving.

_Crap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter should be coming tomorrow or Monday. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In conclusion...

Stiles's reaction wasn't what Derek expected. H'ed expected anger, an assault of questions, yelling even. Anything except dead silence or the blank look that had appeared on Stiles’ face.

Derek's mind reels as a doctor tests him and confirms that he does, in fact, have appendicitis. The same doctor he met with before his kidney surgery walks him through the appendix removal procedure-it’s laparoscopical as well, so it will only leave a few small scars. Derek’s starting to feel like his torso is going to look like a battlefield. 

He barely registers what’s happening as he gets prepped for surgery. What if Stiles never talks to him again? What if it was all for nothing? He replays the moment in the ER over and over again. He hadn’t said anything about the kidney he donated being Stiles’, but he's sure Stiles put it together. Derek keeps ruminating until he’s in the operating room and the anesthesiologist is making him count back from 10.

\----

When he comes to, he finds Melissa sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She walks over to him as soon as she sees he's awake, with a look of concern on her face. 

“Hey, Derek, how’re you doing? You feeling okay?” she asks, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Derek nods slightly. “I’m okay.” He feels a little sore, but not as sore as he was after the kidney transplant.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here again so soon,” she says.

“Me either,” he replies.

Melissa smiles sweetly at him. “Can I get you anything? Water? More pain medication?”

“Water would be nice."

Melissa busies herself with getting him a glass of water and a straw, which gives Derek just enough time to funny take notice that that Stiles isn’t there. 

He lets Melissa help him drink, sipping from the straw she holds up to his lips. When he's done, she puts the cup down and says, “Okay, I’ve gotta move on to another patient, but I’ll see if I can find Stiles and let him know you’re awake. He just went to get something to eat from the vending machines.”

Derek’s heart leaps, and he hears it speed up on the heart monitor machine he’s connected to. His mouth grows dry despite the water he drank just seconds ago and his eyes flick across the room, landing on Stiles' jacket lying on a chair in the corner. “He-s-Stiles is here?” he asks hopefully.

Melissa frowns at him. “Well, yeah, where else would he be?”

Derek doesn’t get time to answer because Stiles walks into the room then. Melissa bids them both goodbye, and exits the room, leaving them alone.

Stiles stands across the room, looking at a spot directly over Derek’s head. Derek just stares straight at him, hoping to figure out what he might be feeling, but his expression is unreadable.

“You stayed,” Derek finally says, breaking the silence.

Stiles’ eyes flick to his.

“Yeah,” he answers with a shrug. He walks over to Derek's bed and sits down gingerly at the end of it. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Derek replies quickly. He could care less about how he’s physically feeling right now.

Stiles bites his lip. “Fine, like, fine enough that you can answer some questions? Because I’ll be honest, Derek, I have a lot of them.”

Derek nods slowly. “Yeah. Any of them. I’ll answer them. Stiles, I just-”

Stiles cuts him off. “So-you donated a kidney.”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

Derek hesitates. Has Stiles not pieced this together yet?

“July.”

“July 14th?” Stiles asks.

Yes.”

Stiles nods, a little frantically. “Okay, that’s what I thought. But just to make sure that I’ve analyzed everything properly and have come to the correct conclusion: you donated a kidney to me, right? Like the kidney that’s inside of me right now-” he jabs at his own torso-”is actually yours.”

“Yes,” Derek says, without any hesitation, looking Stiles straight in the eye.

Stiles puffs out a long breath of air. “Okay, he says. “Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Is that why you were here, that day we met? You wanted to donate a kidney, but thought you should check out the guy who was getting it first? See if he was worthy?"

“No,” Derek answers. “Not exactly.” Stiles raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was in the hospital that day to get those stitches in my hand. And then I met Melissa. I didn’t even remember that I was on the donor list until she reminded me. I signed up years ago, when I was in New York. I hadn’t even thought about it since. But then Melissa was going through my files, and saw that I was a match, and begged me to meet you. So I did.”

“Wait,” Stiles says, holding up a hand. “Melissa knows about this?”

Derek just nods.

Stiles frowns in exasperation. “Are you kidding me? I’ve gushed about you to her multiple times and she’s never said anything. I need to have _words_ with her."

Derek tries to tamp down the warm feeling he gets in reaction to Stiles talking about him to other people. “I told her I wanted it to be anonymous,” he says.

“Why?”

Derek sighs. “I didnt want you to feel like you owned me anything. I didn’t even know you then.”

“But you still gave me your kidney?” Stiles asks. “Even though you didn’t know me?”

Derek struggles to articulate himself. “I-I wasn’t planning to say yes. At all. But then I met you, and you were so-so- _lively_ and full of _life_ , and just-I felt like you didn’t deserve to spend so much of your life hooked up to a dialysis.”

Stiles just looks at him. “But then you dated me.”

“Yeah. I couldn't resist.” 

From the look on Stiles’ face, that wasn’t the right answer.

“So,” Stiles starts, “You just, what, took pity on me? Gave me your kidney and then thought, well, since he has that, I’ve gotta date him?”

“What?” Derek says quickly “No. Stiles. Not at all. I dated you because I _liked_ you. Still like you. Because you're funny and witty and cute and ridiculous. Stiles-you have to know how I feel by now. You have to know that.”

“No, I don,’t Stiles says in a low voice. “You wouldn’t even do anything beyond kiss me.”

“Because I didn’t want you to find out! If you got your hands under my shirt, you would’ve seen the scars, and you would’ve known.”

Stiles is quiet for a long while. Finally, he says, in a small voice, “Why didn’t you tell me? I get why you didn’t right away, but-a week in, a month in, why didn’t you then?”

Derek fiddles with the sheets on his bed. “I didn’t want things to change. They were so good and I was worried if you knew, it would freak you out. That it would be, like, well-like this.” He gestures to the two of them, sitting awkwardly in his hospital room, barely making eye contact.

“I wanted to tell you every day,” he continues. “I was going to tell you last night. That’s why I was so nervous. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was killing me to keep that secret from you. I don’t want any secrets from you, Stiles. I want you to know everything about me, and I want to know everything about you. I want to take things further physically and emotionally, and be together all the time, and be 100% honest with each other. And I’m sorry I wasn’t honest, Stiles. i really regret that. But I don’t-I don’t regret giving you my kidney, not at all." 

Derek pauses and takes a deep breath. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Stiles is staring at the sheets. After a few moments, he nods a half dozen times, taking a deep shaky breath and wiping some moisture out of his eyes. He gets up off of the bed, and Derek watches him with an aching heart. 

“I’m gonna go out for a bit. I just need to..” Stiles trails off, and then abruptly turns and heads towards the door. Derek leans back against his pillows, feeling his entire body fill with sadness. He shouldn't be surprised by this reaction. It's what he had expected.

\--

What he doesn’t expect, is for Stiles to come marching back into his room 20 minutes later But he does. 

Stiles comes bursting into the room like Derek hasn’t been having a minor heart attack for the last 20 minutes. And he doesn’t come in empty handed. He’s got a bear tucked under his arm, an envelope in one hand, a box in the other, an article of clothing draped across his elbow, and a balloon tied around his wrist.

“What?” Derek asks, staring at him dumbly.

Stiles comes and sits himself on the bed, much closer to Derek than he was before. He unceremoniously dumps the rest of the items on top of Derek and Derek just looks at him incredulously.

“Sorry, had to run to the gift shop,” Stiles states, like that’s any kind of explanation. “I got you some things.”

Derek continues to stare at him.

“Okay, what’s first,” Stiles continues, looking at the small pile on the bed. “Oh.” He picks up a piece of clothing, lifting it in the air so it unfolds and Derek can read it.

“I’M A DONOR” it reads in bold, capital letters.

Derek looks from Stiles to the shirt and then back at Stiles, mouth gaping open. 

“This- _this_ is what you should’ve worn on our first date,” Stiles explains. “AKA, you should have told me immediately.”

“I know,” Derek answers honestly. 

Stiles just nods and picks another item off of the bed. It’s a stuffed wolf wearing a t-shirt that says _"Get Well Soon!"_

“That's for you because, well, self-explanatory,” Stiles says. He places the wolf on Derek’s nightstand, and then picks the envelope off of the bed and hands it to Derek as well.

Derek takes it from him with shaky hands, opening the envelope and pulling the card out carefully.

 _"Our deepest condolences on your loss_ ", the front says in a curly script that's flanked by images of flowers. Derek opens the card to see that Stiles has scribbled, _"Of your appendix_ " inside of it. Derek snorts and looks up to see Stiles smiling at him fondly. Derek closes the card and puts it back down on the bed.

Stiles bites his lip. “This one-is for the kidney,” he says, untangling the string from his wrist and handing Derek the balloon. _"Thank You_ ," the balloon reads. Derek’s heart sticks in his throat. Does this mean-what does this mean? He glances down at the bed. There’s one more gift. 

“What’s that?” he croaks out, pointing at the box on the bed.

Stiles lifts it up and opens it, handing it to Derek. A delicious aroma hits Derek's nostrils. “Bacon. I got that from the cafeteria,” Stiles explains.

Derek can’t help chuckling softly. “Why?”

“Because,” Stiles says seriously, “Eating bacon is the first thing we really did together. Well, actually, I guess surgery is technically the first thing we did together.” He frowns. “But that’s not the point. The point is-I like eating bacon with you. And I want to keep eating bacon with you. For a long time.”

Derek can hear his stupid heart speeding up on the monitor again. “Are you-are you saying you forgive me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and Derek feels like he might burst. “Yeah. But only if you’re 100% honest with me from now on.” He looks at Derek straight in the eyes, his own amber eyes wide with intensity.

“I will be,” Derek says earnestly. “Stiles, I promise.”

Stiles nods seriously at him. “One more condition.” 

Derek raises an eyebrow at him as Stiles continues. 

“Also-You let me get under your shirt. Because I just know you’re packing some major abs under there and you keeping them from me is maybe the biggest betrayal in of all of this.”

Derek laughs and takes Stiles hand, tugging him towards him. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that. You know what else?” he whspers.

“What?” Stiles whispers back.

Derek pulls him in closer, so Stiles is leaning over him. “I’ll even let you take off my pants. If you want.”

Stiles grins wickedly. “Oh, you are so forgiven,” he says. 

Stiles leans in closer and Derek wraps a hand around his neck, pulling him down for a sweet, lingering kiss. Minutes ago, Derek had thought he would never get to feel this again, so he savors it until his stitches start to hurt and he has to pull away.

Stiles lies down on the bed next to him, curving around him while being careful not to jostle him.

Derek turns his head to him when he’s funny settled. “You really forgive me?” he asks, eyes searching Stiles’ intently.

“I do,” Stiles answers. He links their fingers together. “Besides, it’s kind of romantic you know. I’ve got your kidney inside of me, keeping me alive.” Derek grins at him. “Plus, you decided to give it to me the moment you met me. Doesn’t get more romantic than love at first sight.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s not _love_ -”

Stiles cuts him off with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, isn’t it?”

Derek looks at Stiles, laying next to him; healthy and beautiful and _still here_. He answers honestly. “It might be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all! Means a lot :) Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here!](http://tumblweedblr.tumblr.com)


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